


Toy Shopping

by shihadchick



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, holiday fic, toys for all the boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 23:04:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9146044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shihadchick/pseuds/shihadchick
Summary: The more he thinks about it, the more Nick likes the idea of just staying in New York. His apartment's cozy and private, there's a million places that'll deliver, and he'll get to unwrap Saader first thing Christmas morning.No downside, really.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fromiftowhen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromiftowhen/gifts).



> A short treat under the wire, just because.

"So what are we doing for Christmas?" 

Nick blinks at his phone, and tries to remember if they'd discussed this already or not.

He'd been assuming they'd have the holidays together, but now that he's thinking about it, they never actually decided for sure if that meant New York, Columbus or back home with either of their families. Or anywhere else.

Probably they should get on the whole booking flights thing once they make a decision; Nick's left that to the last minute often enough to have got stuck in middle seats on tiny planes, which is no picnic even when you're not six foot and built like a hockey player. He doesn't particularly fancy getting to Columbus with a nice little old lady's knitting needle jabbing him in the kidney the whole way. Again. 

"What do you want to do?" he sends back, figuring Saader can have the deciding vote. Nick's not particularly fussed—other than maybe lazy enough to want to stick around the city, anyhow—and his family back in Minnesota would be happy to see them both, but equally as happy to just check in over Skype and save the big family get-togethers for the off-season, when they can go out on the lake and have a good time instead of being stuck indoors hoping they don't get snowed in.

Actually, the more he thinks about it, the more he likes the idea of just staying in New York. His apartment's cozy and private, there's a million places that'll deliver, and he'll get to unwrap Saader first thing Christmas morning. No downside, really.

"Thinking something like this," Brandon replies, and sends Nick three or four links, all copied one after the other with a long alphanumeric string in the URLs, enough that his eyes glaze over rather than trying to read them.

That's about his only excuse for clicking the first—wondering if Saader's been looking at package deals for Mexico again or whatever—because then the web-page opens and Nick nearly drops his phone onto his face.

Well.

Saader's certainly been looking up _packages_.

Nick jabs the back button on his browser a couple times more than he needs to, trying to get back to something less potentially embarrassing. If he'd looked at that more carefully, he sure as hell wouldn't have opened it on his phone _in the middle of the players lounge_ , waiting for Clutter to finish up with Jim so they can go for lunch. If any of the guys had leaned in at the wrong moment to catch him looking at a bright blue dildo that isn't remotely going to be mistaken for anything other than what it is... well, that would turn into chirping material that'd probably outlast Nick's contract. It'd definitely have a longer lifespan than giving Hickey the business over his fish oil tablets, and if Nick's remembering right they've been running that one for a good three seasons now.

Elephants have nothing on hockey players when it comes to remembering this kind of thing.

"Fuck, Saader, warn a guy!" he sends back, and then adds in a couple of extra exclamation points for emphasis, a blushing emoji, the fire one and then—because he kind of has to—the eggplant one.

Brandon just sends him back the angel emoji, which Nick probably should have seen coming.

"Pick something, though," Brandon messages him a couple of minutes later, and Nick goes red all the way to the tips of his ears. 

He saves the message to look at more closely when he gets home that night. When he's got some privacy, at least.

* * *

"We kinda need to decide where we're going to be for the break, Saader," Nick says, sprawled out on his stomach in bed, head propped up with one hand, grinning helplessly at his screen, where Brandon's face is taking up most of the display.

Skype's better than nothing, that's for sure, and Nick glances at the bottom corner again, makes sure that he's still lined up okay with his own webcam, that Brandon can see him just as well.

Brandon shrugs. "It's easier if I go to you, right?"

"And the takeout is better here," Nick says, with a grin, because one of the ways to Brandon's heart is definitely through his stomach. Even Nick has trouble sometimes keeping up with him, and it's not like Nick's not pulling more minutes than he is to boot. 

"How much longer have we got?" Brandon asks, glancing away from the screen for a moment. Nick thinks he's looking at the clock on the nightstand, maybe.

"There's a clock right on your screen, man," Nick reminds him, laughing a little. 

Brandon flips him off cheerfully, but he sits up, and the screen tilts drunkenly as he picks up his computer as well, resettles it on the bed. 

"I think we've got another fifteen minutes, easy," Brandon says, and he licks his lips. 

Nick's mouth goes dry. However often they do this, he's never getting tired of it. Never taking it for granted. 

"Oh?" Nick says, playing dumb. Playing along.

"I guess you've been waiting long enough," Brandon says. "C'mon Nick, get naked."

"You know, one day someone's going to walk in on you when we're doing this," Nick warns him. 

Nick's too paranoid to actually fool around with phone sex—Skype or otherwise—when he's on the road. 

Brandon's either shameless or trusting enough that he seems to enjoy it more. Maybe the threat of someone busting in makes it hotter for him, Nick's not sure. He's also not really complaining, because it means he gets off even when Brandon's out on the west coast, or up in Canada, or anywhere that's not safe at home in Ohio. 

Or in Nick's bed, where he likes him best.

"Time's wasting," Brandon reminds him, and so Nick puts on a sigh, but he also rolls off the bed to his feet and strips off fast.

Brandon makes approving noises through the speakers, and adds a wolf-whistle that makes Nick blush harder when he bends over to pick up his sweats so he can leave them on the chair by the bed instead. 

"Hey, you too," Nick reminds him. He gets to see Brandon four times a season in person, that much is guaranteed. But he gets to see all of Brandon at least once or twice a week most of the rest of the time, and at least those times there's no chance that Nick's going to be a little mad about how the game they've played has gone. 

He'd much rather play with Brandon than against him, they've proven that more than adequately.

"Surprise," Brandon says and he sits up, peels his t-shirt off and pushes the laptop back a little more.

Nick inhales sharply and says "Fuck," low and fervently under his breath. Brandon's just been sitting there this whole time they've been talking wearing nothing but that t-shirt. 

And he's been working himself up at least part of that time, maybe touching himself when Nick's been talking, because his dick is already hard, shiny and wet at the head, and deep pink, flushed with blood.

Nick stares for a little longer, wishes he was there so he could reach out and touch. It's almost as good getting to watch while Brandon wraps his hand around it again, strokes fast and even. He's breathing hard, like it's being punched out of him, little "ah"s and "mm"s, the same soundtrack that Nick's been getting off to for a couple years now. 

Basically his own personal Top Forty, platinum record, Grammy winner for the sexiest damn sex noises, Nick figures. Brandon would probably like that if he told him, if only because it puts him closer to Billy Joel. Sort of. 

Never let it be said Nick doesn't know what Brandon likes. 

"Catch up already," Brandon demands, his tone uneven, needy. He's kind of pink all over now, and Nick likes to watch that blush spread, faint and harder to see under Brandon's chest hair, obvious against the paler skin of his belly, his thighs. Nick's traced it with his hands and his mouth in the past, and he likes how that just seems to make Brandon blush harder. 

"Mmm, kay," Nick says, and he hisses, breathes out his satisfaction when he finally lets himself get a hand on his own dick. 

Not as good as when it's Brandon touching him, but it's still pretty good. Feels even better with the weight of Brandon's eyes on him, too, and it's over pretty quickly after that for both of them. Sometimes it doesn't take much, and you just want to get off. Nick thinks they manage enough variety to keep it interesting, too. That's the thought that reminds him—while they're cleaning up and starting to wind down, starting to say good night and all that—to pause and catch Brandon's eye, and to say, "Hey, Saader, that message you sent earlier?"

"Yeah?" Brandon prompts him.

Nick gives him a grin that's all teeth, a deliberate dare. "Surprise me."

Brandon's answering grin is almost its twin. "You bet. Night, Leds."

"Night," Nick says back, and he touches his index and middle fingers to his lips before reaching out toward the webcam lens, toward Brandon. 

Checks another day off the mental calendar between where he's at and when he gets to kiss Brandon for real again.

* * *

Traffic on Christmas Eve is exactly as hellish as Nick thinks it's going to be. He probably should have waited at home for Brandon to get to him, but they get so little time as it is that he can't quite work up the patience. At least if they get stuck for forty-five minutes trying to get from the airport into the city then they can talk to each other, it could be worse.

It's a pretty good plan as it turns out.

Nick finds Brandon outside security easy enough, and he didn't bother checking a bag, so they can head straight for the doors, although Brandon won't let Nick take the duffel he's carrying, even though he's got a backpack as well. Nick doesn't bother pushing it, he figures Brandon knows what he's doing.

They get stuck in the tunnel for almost an hour, which Nick has to admit is probably his fault for jinxing it, but he also gets to kiss Brandon for a couple minutes when they're stopped next to a truck which is blocking them from the view of pretty much everyone but their driver. He's nodding his head along to the music in his headphones, and Nick hasn't seen him check his mirrors once since they got in the car, so he's going to take that risk. He might care a little more about that if there was any chance they'd be going faster than maybe 7mph any time that century.

Nick had ordered enough food with his last grocery order to cover them for a couple of days if they didn't get around to ordering anything else, and enough things they could pick at and snack on that he has no qualms about dragging Brandon right back to bed the moment they get in.

Brandon's bags join Nick's coat and keys on the floor just inside his apartment door. They can get those later, he figures, and only remembers to stop long enough to throw the deadbolt because it's practically muscle memory by this point. 

They follow that up with a picnic dinner on the couch, just wearing the terrycloth robes Nick keeps in his bathroom for any time Brandon's sleeping over. It saves on clean-up, and Nick likes to tease Brandon by slowly running his hand up his thigh, pushing just under the material at a speed that'd put glaciers to shame, pretending like he's getting away with something.

They manage to watch about half of Die Hard before calling it a night and falling back into bed again. 

It's hardly started, but Nick's already happy to call this one of his favorite holidays.

* * * 

They sleep late the next morning, shower and get dressed long enough to hook up Nick's laptop to the TV so they can check in with both their families over Skype, open a few of the presents they'd sent each other. Nick's starting to think about lunch, not really paying attention to anything else when Brandon vanishes for a few minutes. When he comes back he's carrying a box wrapped in brightly-colored paper, one that Nick doesn't remember seeing under the half-decorated tree he'd hauled out of storage two days ago.

He raises an eyebrow at Brandon, leaning on the open fridge door while he asks the obvious question. 

"What's this?"

Brandon grins at him. "One way to find out."

Nick closes the fridge, kicks it with the side of his foot to make sure the seal catches and then walks over to take the parcel from Brandon. It's not very heavy, and nothing rattles when he gives it a subtle shake.

The grin on Brandon's face is giving him some ideas, though. 

"I'm gonna guess it's not a new stick," Nick says dryly, and Brandon's smirk turns to outright laughter.

He sets the box down on the kitchen counter, tugs at the corner of the wrapping where the tape's sticking up a little. There's no ribbon; either Brandon wrapped it himself in a hurry, or he wants Nick to be able to get into it without having to figure out where they left the kitchen scissors.

Or—

Maybe both those things, because Nick gives in to temptation and just tears the paper off, and the box that's inside is exactly the right kind of discreetly promising for him to figure he's guessed correctly what's inside. 

"Where did you even stash this?" Nick asks. "I'm very glad I didn't accidentally open this in front of my mom, by the way." He pauses a second. "Or yours, for that matter."

"Stuffed it under the bed after you fell asleep last night," Brandon says. "All part of my diabolical plan, ahahaha, you know how it goes. C'mon, Leds, don't you want to see what you're getting?"

Nick mutters something under his breath about how he's not the only one who's going to be getting it, but he opens the box, too.

The dildo is abstractly dick-shaped, flares out at the bottom, a purple so deep it's practically indigo, and Nick turns it over in his hands a few times before asking incredulously, "Is this _glitter_?"

"The website says it's made safely," Brandon replies. "But yeah, something like glitter." His grin goes a little feral. "Want me to stick it in you?"

"The romance is definitely over," Nick says, but he's still running his hands over the smooth, cool curves of the toy, and he can't seem to look away from that subtle shimmer in it. He's starting to get turned on again, too. 

Brandon steps closer and wraps a hand around the toy, over top of Nick's, and then plucks it out of his hands. Nick lets him do it.

"I figured you'd like the flex on this better," Brandon says. "It's your favorite curve, too."

"Fuck," Nick says, and he leans in to kiss Brandon hard, their teeth clicking together at first before he moves enough to sweeten up the angle. "Fuck, Saader, I'm not going to be able to look at an actual stick without blushing for a week."

"Surprise," Brandon says, and kisses Nick again, hot and lingering.

"You know, we've been dressed for long enough now," Nick says, when they finally pull apart again. "Wanna go back to bed?"

"Yes please," Brandon says, and he smacks Nick's ass when he turns to go back to his bedroom.

He follows him fast, though.

* * *

Brandon sets the toy down on Nick's nightstand. It balances just fine, the base flat enough that there's not even the slightest wobble, sitting there like some kind of modern art or really messed up trophy. The shimmer in it isn't as noticeable there, not till Brandon pulls the blinds closed again and flips on the lamp by the bed. Then it's hard for Nick to take his eyes off it.

That is, until Brandon's shimmying out of his slacks and dress shirt, unbuttoning slowly and methodically, unfastening the cuff-links before dropping them back onto Nick's dresser. His style's got sharper since he's been in Columbus. Nick liked it well enough before, and he likes it a lot now, too. 

Nick's clothes take even less time to get off, and he pulls the covers down, folds them back at the foot of the bed so that they've got more room to work with. So that Brandon can spread out, acres of bare skin just waiting for Nick's hands to map it all over again.

He crawls onto the mattress and reaches out for Brandon, who comes willingly. Brandon wraps himself up in Nick and lifts his chin for another kiss, and it's a while until they're done with that, until Nick's ready to move on to other things, other games.

Brandon trails a hand down Nick's side, his hands cool against Nick's overheated skin, and then over the faint curve of his hipbone, down the outside of his thigh and over his quads. He traces his hands back up again, thumb skimming over the inside of his thighs, and that makes Nick shiver, makes him spread his legs automatically.

Brandon wriggles a little way down the bed, settles in between Nick's legs and rubs his thumb over the delicate skin behind his balls, dragging up-down, curling back around to tease at his hole.

"Come on," Nick pants, dick hard and leaking against his belly. Balls aching, and if he plays his cards right he's probably going to get Brandon's mouth on them, too. "C'mon, Saader, give it to me already."

Brandon finds the lube, and Nick definitely didn't leave it there the last time they fucked, which rather suggests that Brandon had this all preplanned, and Merry Christmas to Nick, honestly, how did he get this lucky? 

Also, if Brandon planned this out in this much detail, Nick definitely wants to see that white board. Brandon's stick figures are always hilariously terrible.

He tries to say as much, but that just accomplishes his secondary—okay, primary—objective and gets Brandon to start fingering him just to change the subject, so Nick lets that one go and focuses on not coming in less than a minute. It takes a little more concentration than he can spare if he's multi-tasking.

Brandon's fingers slide easily over his skin by the time Nick gives up on even pretending to have any kind of self-control and starts outright begging, and he pushes two deep into Nick's body, gives him almost enough pressure on his prostate before dragging them out again, thumb tugging at the rim.

"You want more?" Brandon asks, and he reaches up to kiss Nick before he can quite answer, smearing lube over his chest and shoulders from the way his hands move to hold them both in place. "God, you're so hot like this."

"Yeah," Nick says, brushing sweaty hair back off his forehead while he looks up at Brandon. While he eagerly drinks in the sight of Brandon sprawled heavily on top of him, sweating just as much, as close to wrecked as Nick is, just from what they're doing to each other.

Brandon sits up just enough to reach out and pick up the toy from the nightstand, squeezes lube out onto it and smears it around with his hand. It looks exactly the same as it does when he's giving Nick a handjob, and Nick can feel his dick twitch just thinking about that. Just watching it. Just thinking about the toy pushing inside him, how it's going to feel.

Brandon shuffles down the bed a bit, resettles in between Nick's legs again. Runs a wet finger up the inside of his thigh and makes a satisfied "mm" at the way that makes Nick shiver and then spread his legs open more.

"You want it?" he asks again, and Nick's fucking dying for it, just wants Brandon to fuck him already, and he grits out one more desperate, "Please."

Mercifully, Brandon does move again at that, reaches down to line the toy up, holding it so Nick can just feel the cool material against him. The blunt pressure behind the slickness of the lube. 

And then it goes away, and Brandon runs a wet hand over his own dick a couple times, like he can't resist the urge any longer. Nick would be more sympathetic if he didn't feel like he was going to explode if he doesn't get fucked sometime _really soon_. 

"Brandon, fuck, come on," Nick grits out, aching for it. Desperate. 

"Okay, okay," Brandon promises. "Gonna do it now."

Nick whines in the back of his throat, a high frustrated sound that morphs into something lower and more guttural when Brandon finally rubs the toy down the length of his dick, keeps trailing it back until he's lined up and ready to use it on Nick. 

"You're so fucking hot like this," Brandon says, and then he pushes, and Nick arches his back and welcomes the sensation, the stretch and burn and sweet sharpness of it all.

"Oh, oh yeah, fuck," Nick says, and Brandon reaches up to kiss him again, desperate with it while he fucks Nick with short, hard thrusts, his forearm rubbing over Nick's knee and the inside of his thigh, his weight centering heavy over Nick's chest. His mouth hot and wet and open for Nick.

It's Brandon who comes first, his dick rubbing against Nick's stomach as they move together, splashing warm and sticky over Nick's skin. Brandon's hands freeze while he shakes through the last of it, the head of the toy just breaching Nick's body when he stops moving, an unintended tease that makes Nick want to implode. 

"Fuck, fuck, Saader, please," Nick begs, once he thinks he's given him long enough to recover. When he can't stand to wait any longer.

"Oh, right," Brandon says, and looks down at his hand as if he's half-forgotten it's part of his own body, before muffling a helpless, choking giggle into Nick's shoulder. He does at least start moving his hand again. 

They fall back toward the rhythm they'd found to start with, and Nick just lets himself ride it until everything turns inside out and upside down and he's coming all over himself, voice raw. Brandon lets the toy drop onto the sheet beside them when Nick finally lets him carefully tug it out again, and he crawls up the mattress until he's level with Nick, until he can curl close and just lie there with him while they wait for their bodies to cool and their heart-rates to slow.

"That was good," Nick says eventually, enjoying the faint twinges telling him he's pushed himself, maybe gone just the right amount too far.

"Yeah," Brandon agrees. He sounds deeply satisfied, which satisfies Nick right back.

He does have one question, though.

"What was so funny?" he asks. "You know, uh. Before."

"Oh," Brandon says, and he taps out a fast little rhythm on Nick's belly with his fingertips, almost tickling. Almost certainly delaying his answer.

It's obvious why he'd had to give himself a second by the snort he doesn't manage to swallow before finally getting enough control of his voice to answer.

"Well, it's just." Brandon pauses again, manages to steady his voice. "I kind of left you hanging. With, uh. Just the tip."

Nick hits him with a pillow.


End file.
